


The Only Two Pairs of Lovers

by RobberBaroness



Series: Darkest Timeline [10]
Category: Arthurian Mythology
Genre: F/M, Past Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22291132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobberBaroness/pseuds/RobberBaroness
Summary: Lancelot finds the only remaining Knight of the Round Table who will sympathize with his crimes.
Relationships: Isolde the Fair/Tristan (Arthurian)
Series: Darkest Timeline [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598476
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	The Only Two Pairs of Lovers

It had all been so simple once. Maleagant was the villain, Lancelot was the hero. Maleagant had taken Guinevere and her ladies, the one to keep as a wife, the others as concubines, and Lancelot had been the one to save them all. Now he wondered how much of his memories of that time had been distorted. Had Maleagant really been such an out-and-out monster, himself such a blameless saint? Had he imagined all the atrocities he saw within the castle?

The sword bridge. He hadn’t imagined the sword bridge, and no man built a sword bridge for any reasonable purpose. Maleagant had deliberately made himself a parody of a villain without any of Lancelot’s help. And god, the ridiculous things the man wore...

“I cannot compare one night of madness to the time and effort Maleagant took,” Lancelot murmured to himself as he stumbled through the forest.

“Just because Maleagaut’s madness was slower than yours does not mean he was any less mad,” Galahad helpfully chimed in. Unless Lancelot was imagining it, the forest animals were being soothed by Galahad’s presence; wherever he went, birds would sing, deer would circle about, foxes would stare rather than flee. If Lancelot had thought to take a bow with him when he ran, it could have been an effective method of hunting.

There was the unearthly sound of harp music floating through the air, and Lancelot wondered if he had stumbled upon the land of faerie. Perhaps that was where he belonged- in a realm of nonsense and amorality, where he could become lost forever, bound to the court of some cruel fae monarch, trapped forever between heaven and hell. It would be better than he deserved.

But as he followed the music, he found that it had an entirely human source. It was only a man playing the harp, alone and without an audience.

Although the man he came upon was as dirty and run-down as himself, his handsome face and flaxen hair shone through the grime of the forest. He looked every inch the courtly character, even dressed in tatters and crouched by a campfire. The music issuing from his harp was perfect and lovely; it was no wonder Lancelot had mistaken it for fairy song.

The harpist looked up and smiled.

“Greetings, traveller! I am Tramtrist, a wandering minstrel.”

“Hello, Tristram,” said Lancelot.

“Oh no,” said Galahad.

“Lancelot?” Tristram looked closer and his smile became more genuine. “My god, man, I hardly recognized you! Come sit by the fire with me, for surely there are no two men in all of Christendom more tormented by love than Tristram and Lancelot. Share in my food and tell me of your troubles, and you shall be doing me a great service in taking my mind off my separation from the fair Isolde.”

Unused to such a warm welcome of late, Lancelot accepted the invitation. He’d always admired Tristram’s prowess in battle, while at the same time holding himself above the man and his mistress as flagrant sinners of the worst kind, flaunting their adultery for the whole world to see, almost causing him to sympathise with the horrible King Mark. Now he had no room to blame or to judge.

“Thank you,” he said. “Truly, I would not have expected to meet another Knight of the Round Table without crossing swords.” Tristram waved his concerns aside.

“Why should I hold you in judgement when I too suffer the pangs of heartbreak? The fair Isolde and I are parted, and I will not truly live again until we are once more reunited. I have been faithful to her through my travels, never even seeing my own wife, Isolde of the White Hands, for it is only her name that so much as brings about a memory of my true love. Without her, every day is torture. The thought of her by the side of King Mark is worse torture still. But such is love, for god invented it to test us mortals, to see what we would do for it, to obey a higher calling than the laws of the land. Isolde and I shared many an hour together bemoaning our fate…”

Tristram went on like this for some time without pausing to give Lancelot a moment to speak. It was just as well- there was nothing romantic Lancelot could convey about his own actions.

“Did you know this man once fought by the side of Breuse Sans Pitie?” asked Galahad. “Thought it was unchivalrous for him to be attacked by a greater force of knights, even his own brothers in arms. Ask Palomides about it some time, if he doesn’t attack you on sight now that Kay’s told him what you really did.”

“Be silent for once,” Lancelot muttered. He half feared and half hoped that Tristram would take it as being directed at him, but he was still not paying enough attention to catch it.

“...and as Isolde herself once said,” Tristram was reminiscing, “there are only two pairs of lovers among all of the Britons- Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristram and Isolde.”

“She said that?” Lancelot asked, more than a little startled. “In public? To other people?” It could have gotten Guinevere accused of treason…

“And now here we are together,” Tristram continued, “the embodiments of the courtly lover. It was a meeting ordained by the heavens, for we are the only two men who can sympathize with each others’ plights.”

Lancelot could not let Tristram go on like that, at least not about himself.

“You don’t know my full story...what I did to Guinevere...there was no honor in it, no gentility, only force.”

“Nothing is a crime in the name of love,” Tristram said, causing Lancelot to wonder whether the knight had been listening to a single word he’d said. “I cannot think what I would have done if Isolde had ever refused me. If Guinevere had not been so foolish as to cry out, the two of you could have cuckolded King Arthur for years!”

“Are you going to fly into one of your lunatic rages and kill this one?” asked Galahad. Lancelot shook his head. “Content to send souls to heaven but not downwards...” the angel muttered.

Lunatic rages. That was the phrase for the manner in which he had murdered Bedivere. What did it matter if the man had desired Guinevere? So had many men, and Lancelot had not massacred them all. He’d been fighting to protect his own life and freedom, to keep from facing King Arthur ever again, not to preserve his love’s honor.

“Do you know how many so-called crimes Isolde and I have committed in the name of love?” Tristram was asking. “Adultery, abandonment, murder. I once sent her a dog to cheer her in her loneliness, and she killed it because she could not stand the thought of being happy without me! Such is the strength with which she loves me.”

“Percival and his wife are hermits these days,” Galahad said. “They live in a little cottage and teach prayers to children. They probably don’t have any idea any of this is happening. They say there is no sin in heaven, but I begin to feel the pangs of envy…”

This was the one man who sympathized with him, and in the end was his moral superior; Tristram had never held down Isolde as she wept, or if he had then he knew better than to brag about it. Tristram had a better chance of achieving even purgatory than Lancelot at this point. If Tristram was a fool, then Lancelot was a monster. There was almost a sense of comfort in accepting this fact at last.

“You must be journeying to find your lady love again, after all this time on the run,” said Tristram.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I thought I was, but I suspect even the sight of me might cause her pain. But if Mordred has her as he claims, then I seek to free her from him and end the bastard’s life.” It was true- whatever else he had done, it was his last chance to save her. Mordred and Malegaunt, men cut from the same cloth, had always threatened Guinevere. He would save her once more before hell came for him.

“A quest!” declared Tristram, delighted. “Just as I have saved Isolde so many times, it is your duty as her knight to rescue the fair Guinevere! I will join you in your quest, and we will fight side by side in the name of true love.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to accept,” pleaded Galahad. “No good can come of this.”

“Travel with me if you want,” said Lancelot. “Though there will be no glory in it.”

“There is always glory when a man fights for his lady love,” Tristram assured him. Lancelot raised slowly to his feet. This had been a tiresome journey, and it was about to become twice as tiresome.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, Tristram fans, I really am, but in the Malory summation "Arthur Dies at the End" there is an appendix called "Christ What an Asshole: An Examination of the Many Crimes of Sir Tristram."


End file.
